Murder, she said
by Iweavewords
Summary: Before the 'Stuff the police is too incompetent to notice' notebook there was the 'Hale's fire' notebook. It marked the beginning of many years to come of monitoring life in Beacon Hills. And in the spotlight, the Argent family. But without real proof the invisible lines drawn could not become more than nonsense from a crime novel fan. Eventual Derek/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** This is me giving a second chance to something I wrote two years ago. Set in season 1.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes."

Sherlock Holmes Quote

 _-The Hound of the Baskervilles_

Chapter 3: "The Problem"

* * *

Ten seconds.

With narrowed eyes, I stalked my prey through what I considered my hunting ground.

Five steps.

I was close now, but she was too absorbed in her tribulations to notice me.

One quick movement.

I raised my hand and tapped innocently her shoulder.

She turned, surprised to see me there, so close.

I smiled pleased.

Four words.

"May I help you?"

The woman sighed. "Actually, yes. I was looking for a book a friend of mine recommended me. It's a romantic novel about a young woman who falls in love with a millionaire and… well… I don't know much about it because I haven't read it yet, but Christie said that-"

"I think I know what you want," I told her, deciding to end her rambling and stop her embarrassment. It was not the first woman in her forties I had found wandering lost around the bookshop's shelves. Indeed, they had turned a considerable part of our clientele since the publishing of that erotic novel.

The same novel I was holding now. "You are quite lucky. I have only two left."

She took it quickly from my hands, almost desperately. "I'll take it."

I saw her rush to my father, pay even faster, and exit the shop clutching the book in a way only someone who was committing something against the law would. I rolled my eyes.

"A sell is a sell and you know well that if those spicy novels keep the shop open, then so be it," my father admonished.

I leant against the counter, careful not to drop any of the numerous books which crowded it. "I know, but still sometimes I'd like to sell something that does not deal with stupidly handsome executives who like to play it rough or hormonal vampires."

"People don't buy books anymore. Not when they can get the same entertainment from a TV or a PC. We should be grateful of those bestselling novels that keep bringing food to our table."

My father's tirade was interrupted by the ringing of the bell hung over the door that announced the arrival of a client. Except it wasn't a client.

"Kenneth!" I yelled and ran to take the eleven different newspapers from his hands.

I left them behind the counter before the astonished eyes of my father and walked back to Kenneth, placing in his extended hand fifteen dollars. The plump old man took them with a satisfied smile. "See ya' tomorrow, Imogene."

Once again alone in the shop, my father dedicated me a skeptical look. It was the same ritual every morning. "Do you really need to buy all those newspapers?"

With a grunt, I took them from the floor and moved to the small room that served as an improvised office for my father – a quiet place where to calculate how much money we would owe the next month.

"A small detail can mean a vast deal when solving a crime," I answered. Instead of taking the desk, I sat on the floor and took the first newspaper, starting to read it from the last page, a habit I picked up since little.

My father chuckled while he observed me from the threshold, arms crossed. "But that's the thing, Imogene, you are not solving any crimes."

"That, we don't know yet," I insisted.

"I think we have already talked about this. This is Beacon Hills, small quiet Beacon Hills, not New Orleans or Detroit or New York nor any of those cities in your crime novels. So I think you should stop fantasizing about all that criminal stuff and start worrying about more important things."

I snorted. "Like what?"

"Like college." My father softened. "I know you are a smart girl, Imogene. I know you would do well in college."

"College is expensive."

"I know." My father took a deep breath, the same type one takes when one is about to do something painful. "That's why your mother and I have been thinking about selling the bookshop."

My eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Wouldn't you like to go to college? Leave Beacon Hills? Maybe study something about criminology and solve real cases. Or go to Law School like your mother did."

"But dad… the shop!" I exclaimed as if that was argument enough. "We have had the shop since forever. I grew up between these shelves and books."

The bell rang signaling a new possible and much needed sell. "And now it's time you build a new sanctuary where to keep growing up."

With a warm smile, he left me alone in the office. I stood motionless, staring at the newspapers scattered in front of me. But I hadn't time to reflect on what my father had said because my eyes landed on the words etched in bold black tint on the cover of 'Beacon Hills News'.

'BODY FOUND IN BEACON HILLS WOODS.'

Enough to catch my entire attention. I turned the newspaper I had in my hands. As expected, I was greeted by the same headline. I searched for the right page and my eyes scanned the article.

But I didn't get too far into my reading as the bell rang again and I looked up. To go or not to go? Any other day I would have left my father to deal with it, or even Mia, who I was sure was between 'Self-help' and 'Cooking' polishing her nails, but my father's words of the impending end of the bookstore were fresh in my mind and I considered that I owed it to the shop.

Newspapers could and would wait.

Stepping out of the office I found my father chatting with a blue-eyed man around his age in 'Biographies' and I passed them.

Mustering my best smile, brought to perfection by years of working in the shop, I approached the scrawny boy wandering through 'Sci-fi'.

"May I help you?"

"Umm, no!... Yes!" the boy exclaimed. He looked nervous, but I could not tell if it was just his nature or if he was actually agitated. I frowned. "Umm, I was looking for any book you have about… err," he dropped his voice and muttered, "werewolves."

I mimicked him and brought my head closer to his and whispered, "Werewolves?"

He nodded.

I nodded slowly. It was not the usual type of client that had those 'preferences' but I obliged.

"I think I have what you want," I smiled.

He smiled back and showed me two thumbs up. "Great!"

My fingers traced the spine of several books before I found what I looked for. I offered the book to him. "Here you are."

His wide eyes didn't betray his surprise and an eyebrow shot up. "Twilight?"

"It's a bestseller," I assured him.

He almost flushed. "Oh, no, no, no." He left the book on a shelf as fast as he could. "I didn't mean that type of werewolves."

I blinked, confused. "What type of werewolves did you mean?"

He sighted. "I want books about werewolves. The type of books that explain things about them." At my confused look, he added. "If they were to be real or something, I mean."

I pursued my lips in concentration. Finally, I raised a finger. "I think we have something."

He followed me through 'Mystery' to 'Fantasy'. There I started stuffing his arms with books, all of them of dubious credibility. He soon met ' _The truth behind lycanthropy'_ , ' _Werewolves, the myth now and then'_ and ' _The She-wolf: the real sex bomb_ ' among others. He decided to keep ' _Giants, Monsters & Dragons: An Encyclopedia of Folklore, Legend and Myth_', ' _White Wolf Woman & Other Native American Transformation Myths' _and _'Myths of the Dog-Man'_.

He followed me to the cashier.

"If you wait here a minute, I can bring you a book you might be interested in."

"Sure."

I left the fidgeting boy. He seemed to wish to be somewhere else. But what bugged me was that I had seen the boy before and I couldn't place where. Of course, that feeling disappeared when I went to the office to look for the promised book and the face of the same boy stared at me from the newspapers.

I crouched and inspected the photo that accompanied the article about the body found. Sheriff Stilinsky smiled after having spoken with the press; behind him, his son stood near a Jeep.

I joint said boy at the front of the shop. "Here it is."

I handed him the old book. It had been in my father's office for as long as I could remember and by the look of it, it must date back to 1800, at least. In golden archaic letters, it read 'bestiary'.

I saw the surprise in his face. "Well?"

"It's perfect."

"It's 100 dollars," I said. I wouldn't confess it, but I had truly no idea how much the book was worth. It hadn't even a price tag. But when I saw an opportunity, I took it. That I had learnt from my mother. My father was too kind and honorable.

"100 dollars!" the boy exclaimed.

"It's a very old and very unique book. There are not many out there… limited edition and all that…" He didn't look convinced. "Look, I'll make you a deal. You answer a few questions and the book is yours for 60 bucks."

He seized me, his eyes traveling to my own playful ones and the beautiful red cover of the book. "Okay, shoot."

I started summing the prices of ' _White Wolf Woman & Other Native American Transformation Myths' _and _'Myths of the Dog-Man'_ when he stopped me. "No, no, just the expensive one. I'm a student, for God's sake! I'll check the internet."

I shrugged. "So… What's your name?"

"Stiles."

"Stiles Stilinsky?"

He frowned. "Do I know you?"

"No, your face is familiar. You're the Sheriff's son, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Wow, so I guess you'll know a lot about what goes on around Beacon Hills. Say, for instance, the finding of a body."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. He didn't seem too favorable to my subtlety. I might as well have put a sign over my head that read 'I'm trying to coax information out of you'.

"I can't really talk about anything of that. _Sub Judice_ and all that."

My smile fell. "Oh, I understand." He handed me the money with a painful expression. "One more question," I said before he could leave, "why is the Sheriff's son so interested in lycanthropy?"

He faltered. "Um, you know, school stuff."

"School stuff?" I repeated, incredulous.

"Yeah… English paper about… how werewolves have changed in modern literature from their original counterparts." He allowed himself a smirk at the elaborated lie.

I didn't feel too convinced, though.

"From beasts to hormonal puppies?" he offered.

I laughed. "Couldn't agree more."

I saw him leave, eager to go back to my newspapers.

But fate had other plans for me.

"Wow, Mimi, I thought for a moment there that you were finally flirting," Mia said by my side, blowing occasionally on her recently painted nails. If you feel curious, this week's color was fluorescent green, or as the bottle named it 'Nightmare in the forest'. "Of course, then you went full C.I.A. interrogator mode on the poor boy."

"Well, you know," I said, "I am married to the books."

She chuckled. "I overheard your father. You know that excuse is not going to work forever and then…" she pointed a neon finger at me, "you and I are going to find you a boyfriend."

I finished writing down the sale in my father's accounts' book. "Sure." _As probable as Stiles really writing a paper about werewolf literature_ , I added to myself.

"What reminds me of today!" she said cheerfully. I raised an eyebrow. "Today's party day!"

"Oh God no," I said and bailed to the office.

To my dismay, Mia followed me.

"It's a new school's year. You should take advantage of it and socialize."

"But I am not in school anymore," I reminded her. At her almost nineteen years old, Mia was still in High School. Her parents had asked my father to take her under his wing, arguing that I would be a good influence and their daughter could learn something from working between the same books she avoided like the plague.

"Doesn't matter!" she said, "Put on a nice dress and no one will care. Plus, you're not so old."

I snorted. "Thank you."

"Will you come?" she pouted.

I considered it. I truly did. I considered accompanying Mia to a place crowded with people I didn't know and end up alone after she ditched me for her new found love of her live – which was more of love of that night –, or staying home and try to make sense of Beacon Hills unresolved mysteries.

"No."

She went off in a huff.

I didn't care.

I knew Mia long enough to read her selfless efforts to get me to open up and leave the safety of the bookstore. I knew her parents would let her party all night if I were to go with her. With someone responsible to keep an eye on their black sheep. Now she would have to moan and complain for fifteen minutes before daddy got a headache and let her have her way.

I let out a contented sight. Now, back to Beacon Hills' murders and crimes.

With care, I cut out several articles I thought could be related to what I had titled as 'Stuff the police is too incompetent to notice'. Then, I glued them to my investigation notebook, which accompanied me since I was fifteen.

At one point, my father entered the small office, careful not to step on me, and began rummaging. I ignored him, trying to connect somehow the found body to my previous notes.

"Imogene, have you seen a red old book with golden letters on the cover?"

I smiled widely. "Yes, I have just sold it."

My father didn't meet my expectations of his bliss because I had sold that old piece of paper. In fact, he looked kind of alarmed.

"You sold it?"

My smile fell a bit. "I did."

He gulped. "To whom?"

"To Stiles Stilinsky."

My father frowned. "Is this a joke? That cannot even be a real name."

I rolled my eyes. "He is the Sheriff's son."

"The Sheriff's son? Why would the Sheriff's son want a book like that?"

I shrugged. "If you ask me, he is weird."

My father ran a hand through his graying hair. "You have to get it back."

"Get it back? What do you mean 'get it back'?"

"I mean 'get it back'. Make that boy return it, tell him there was a mistake, that the book was not on sale."

I closed the notebook and sat up. "Dad, he paid me 60 dollars for that book." There, maybe that would make him change his mind and act like the proud father I expected him to be.

Instead, his eyes bulged and his forehead wrinkled dramatically. "60 dollars," he muttered. "60 dollars," he said louder, as if convincing himself that he had heard correct and the heart attack was not worth it. "Get that book back," he finally told me.

"Why? Why is that book so important?" I asked; my curiosity was piqued.

"I already sold that book. For far more."

He then went back to the front of the store. Peeking at him from the office, I saw him talk with the man from before. I didn't recognize him. I didn't even think I had seen that man before.

This wouldn't be so surprising if it weren't because I kept tabs on practically everyone on Beacon Hills. You'll see, in my line of thought, until you are not proved innocent, you are a suspect.

Unfortunately, from my position, I couldn't hear a word they said. Maybe if I got closer…

I took a few books from my father's desk and walked out of the office, roaming the shelves closer to the desk and faking I was placing new books. So near, but still I couldn't hear them properly.

I felt as a spy as I moved closer; a very inexperienced spy.

My father shared this opinion.

He pointed at me. "And that girl over there pretending to work is my daughter Imogene."

I winced and waved sheepishly.

"I figure she doesn't remember me. It has been quite a time. I'm Chris Argent," the man introduced himself. I realized then that I did in fact remember him. His name was high in my list of suspicious people.

"Nice to meet you," I said politely.

"Imogene, weren't you leaving to run that errand I told you about?" my father interfered.

I was anxious to go over my notes about the Argent family and to get away from the scrutiny under Chris Argent's critic eyes, so I just nodded and smiled. "Sure, dad. Goodbye, Mr. Argent."

"Goodbye, Imogene," I heard Chris Argent's deep voice call back and I shuddered.

* * *

Crime novels have taught me that coincidence doesn't exist; life has proved them right.

I forgot everything about the red book as I got home and took one very special notebook. Before the 'Stuff the police is too incompetent to notice' notebook there was the 'Hale's fire' notebook. It marked the beginning of many years to come of monitoring life in Beacon Hills. And while the first one gathered information in general, the second one had a very clear purpose: discovering the truth behind the fire that killed a whole family over one night.

And in the spotlight, the Argent family.

As the first detective in literature created, Le Chevalier C. Auguste Dupin, defended, ratiocination is the key to solve a mystery. And while the police focused their efforts on searching for clues in a burnt down building where destruction reigned, I found my clues outside.

How much of a coincidence is that the Argent family moved away after the fire?

How much of a coincidence is that Kate Argent had a relationship with Derek Hale?

How much of a coincidence is that most of the Hale family was gathered in the house the time of the incident?

But without real proof the invisible lines drawn could not become more than nonsense from a crime novel fan. The return of the Argent family might be the only way of turning supposition into fact.

"Sweetheart," the high pitched voice of my mother snapped me back to reality, "I didn't know you were home. Did you close the shop early?"

She left her heavy designer bag over the kitchen counter.

I didn't look up from my notes. "Dad sent me to run errands."

"And do those errands involve the Hale family history?" she said picking up one of the notes scattered upon the kitchen's table.

"Maybe, we don't know yet."

She took off her earrings. Then would come the rest of the expensive jewelry, change the tailored skirt, blouse and jacket for comfy pants and a t-shirt, and take off the makeup she had spent half an hour applying. The high heels were already by the front door.

"How was your day, mom?"

"Well, you know, the same old. Susan's divorcing again, for the fifth time. Michael is again for another small robbery… the usual suspects." I laughed. "How was the day at the store?"

"Well, the same old. Moms buying erotica and chick lit, teenagers lusting after PMSing vampires and dad fretting over old books. By the way, do you know anything about an old red book?"

My mom opened the fridge, looking for something low-calorie. "A red book? Sorry, Mimi, you know I'm not the book type. That's your father."

I let the nickname pass. Since I was born my mother has made an effort to call me anything but my full name. I have been Ginny, Immy, Gen, Ima and now I was Mimi, which seemed to have stuck as a favorite. My parents have never told me directly, but I was certain my naming had been my father's doing.

"Chris Argent was today at the shop," I dropped casually.

My mother took a bite from her veggie sandwich. "I thought the Argents moved to New Orleans six years ago."

"Well, they're back."

"And?" she stressed.

"And a body was found dead. Cut in half."

"So you think it was the Argents," my mother concluded.

"Don't you think it's suspicious everywhere they go strange things happen? And not exactly the good strange type, but more the 'murder and arson' type."

My mother shrugged. "Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. There was an investigation when the Hale's fire and the police declared it an accident, an electrical malfunction."

"Police aren't infallible. They can be wrong sometimes."

"It happened six years ago, Mimi. It's a cold case."

"So you think it might have been arson too."

"I think it was a horrible incident and we shouldn't intrude in other people's sorrow," she sentenced and in a lighter note she added, "I'm going to have a relaxing salts bath. I swear Susan is giving me wrinkles."

I chuckled. Probably I wouldn't see my mother again until tomorrow afternoon. She had always been a busy woman, but it was her hard work what really supported economically my family. My mother's life revolved around the office, her computer, beauty treatments and designer clothes.

Twenty minutes later I heard the door open and my father arrive home. I ran to my bedroom. It was already dark and I didn't feel like dealing with my angry father. Tomorrow I would deal with Stiles Stilinsky and the mystery of the red book.

I closed my notebook and opened one of my favorite novels, where crimes were puzzles which the detectives had all the pieces for and criminals met justice at the hands of logic and reason.

* * *

Indecision took hold as I raised my hand to ring the bell of the Stilinsky residence. Mere seconds later, a man I recognized as the Sheriff opened the door.

"Hello, can I help you?"

I smiled the same smile I dedicated to my clients. "Good morning, sir. Is Stiles home?"

He seemed a little taken aback but called for his son. "Do you want to come inside?"

I shook my head. "Thanks sir, but I just need to ask Stiles for something. I have work in an hour."

Stiles came down the stairs a few seconds later. "Okay, I'll leave you now, I have also work to do. Have a nice day, Miss…"

"Imogene," I said and saw him cringe involuntary at my name as people usually did.

"Nice to meet you, Imogene," the Sheriff said before walking to his car.

"Nice to meet you too, sir," I replied.

"Hi," said Stiles. "Imogene? Were your parents drunk or something when they named you?"

"Your name is _Stiles Stilinsky_ ," I shot back. It didn't seem to bother him though. "Um… Do you still have that book I sold you yesterday?" He nodded. "Well, I need it back."

"What?"

"It turns out it wasn't on sale. I made a mistake and now I need it back." At his torn expression I added, "I will give you a refund."

"What if I want to keep the book?"

I hadn't considered this option. I mused about it. "I'll pay you for it."

"100 dollars and you answer my questions," he said meekly.

I gasped. "What?! You only paid 60 dollars for it!"

"Well, it's a very rare and old book. Limited edition." I could see he was enjoying this.

I growled. "Deal."

I took my wallet and handed him the money; his 60 dollars that I carried by means of refund and 40 of my own.

He smirked. "I'll be right back, feel free to wait inside."

I did as told and passed the threshold. When he left me alone I had a sudden revelation. I was in the Sheriff's house, where he surely kept confidential information about all his cases. Could I dare to take a peek at these documents? I thought, eyeing the semi open door that led to what I supposed was his office.

Could I? Yes.

Would I? I wasn't so sure.

I had never been the type to do risky adventurous things. My thing was more the observant-on-the-side kind of thing. I glanced at the stairs and tried to hear something. There was the sound of Stiles moving things, probably searching for the book.

My feet moved towards the office on their own and stopped in front of the door.

What if inside were the clues I needed to solve the mystery? Would I regret not giving it a shot?

Would I? Hercule Poirot would, Miss Marple would, William of Baskerville would, and Sherlock Holmes surely would.

With one last look at the stairs, I barged into the office. I felt the adrenaline rush to my ears and my hands grew frantic as they moved over papers and folders.

A note from the doctor about a missed check-up, a letter from a teacher warning Stiles' bad performance in school, several receipts… Nothing useful.

I opened the desk's first drawer and was met by the sight of a gun. I let out a shriek and closed it quickly. I decided I had caused racket enough to draw attention and to bail. But out of the corner of my eye, a familiar name. Hale.

I cursed inwardly and took the folder from the shelf. It was trapped between other two and it wouldn't come out. I heard steps approaching. Someone coming down the stairs.

I pulled harder, digging my short nails into it.

"Imogene?" I heard Stiles call my name.

With a grunt, I pulled it out and stuffed it into my bag.

The door to the office opened.

"Imogene?"

I turned, flustered. As expected, Stiles observed me from the threshold.

"What are you doing here?" He asked untrustingly.

"I-I was looking for the bathroom," I said softly.

He raised an eyebrow. "In my father's office?"

"I'm having some trouble finding it."

Stiles stared at me and I held my breath, but he finally said, "This way."

The bathroom was obviously shared by two men. The lack of beauty products testified it and it smelled strongly of man's cologne. Also, the toilet's lid and seat were up.

With a sense of danger, I put both down, sat upon it and took the folder and my cell phone out of my bag.

I didn't remember the sound my phone did every time I took a photo until I did the first one. I cringed and cursed. With trembling fingers I put it on silence and kept making photos of the whole dossier.

But there were too many pages and soon I heard Stiles at the other side.

"Imogene, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes! I'll be out in a minute!"

I flushed the toilet and kept shooting photos.

"Damn it!" I cursed when my phone informed me that it had met its full storage capacity.

"You sure you're alright?" Stiles asked.

 _Think quick, act faster_. "Yes! It's just that I got my period!"

That shut him up effectively.

I erased a whole folder named 'miscellanea' and resumed my daring task. I turned the faucet on for some noise. It kept running for three whole minutes before I turned it off. Two minutes later I had already the whole dossier on my phone.

I put the folder on the magazine rack beside the toilet, not daring to look at what other magazines it contained, and walked out.

Stiles was waiting outside.

"Everything settled," I told him.

He nodded slowly. "I have the book."

He handed it to me and I headed to the front door, anxious to leave the Stilinsky household. But Stiles wasn't finished.

"Why do you want this book so badly?" he asked.

I remembered our deal and half-lied easily, "It's a family heirloom, apparently."

"Why does your family keep books about werewolves?"

"We have a bookstore. We keep books about everything," I explained.

As it happened in the store, one of us left with the red book, and the other was left skeptical. But now I had the book and I was dead set on examining it from front to back.

* * *

I erased the small blackboard clean once again. My mother had bought it to me when I was five and she had decided my vocation was to become a cute teacher. With it came a small pink desk that matched the blackboard. I had got rid of the desk long ago but kept the board.

"Okay, let's go over this once again," I said to myself.

At the top right, I wrote down 'Dead girl'. I had little information about it; what I had fished from the press. Only half of the body had been found, it belonged to a woman, age between fifteen and forty and it was found in the woods. Until I knew who she was, it was a dead-end.

At the top left, I wrote down 'Argent family'. I had more information about them. They had lived in Beacon Hills for a little more than a year. They left after the fire incident. Their main connection to the Hales was through Kate Argent, who had been seen with Derek Hale (Mia proved useful when it came to gossip). They wanted the red book.

What brought me to the next point. In the middle down I wrote 'Werewolves'. This one was more of a stretch, but I was willing to bite the bait. Over the past two days, the study of the book had occupied my every moment. I had been reading, translating and researching. And despite of it, I still couldn't pinpoint the relation with the other elements of this riddle.

In the middle of it all, I wrote 'Hale's fire'. The beginning of it all. And I was sure it was what connected it all. The documents I 'borrowed' from Sheriff Stilinsky were the only advance I have done and the only line of investigation open. By the Sheriff's notes, it seemed I was not the only one who believed the fire was started deliberately. The report explained how the fire could have started by an electrical failure. I skipped the technicalities and focused on the bit of new information.

I had the belief the only survivors from the fire left Beacon Hills. I was wrong. Peter Hale was currently admitted in Beacon Hills' hospital.

I stared at the blackboard. If I was to be sincere, there was one point missing. My family, the Wise family. Yes, as you can imagine, I was picked on a lot because of my full name. But that was not the point. Why did my father treasure a book dated from 1841 about werewolves, written both in old English and Latin?

Of course, the book had become a tricky matter. I had told my father that I hadn't found Stiles when I went to his house, and that I would try again sometime this week. He had grumbled and mumbled, but relented.

I made a mental note of my line of investigation.

First stop, Beacon Hills hospital.

* * *

I didn't like hospitals.

No, it wasn't because of the smell. Actually, I liked the smell.

It was because they reminded me why I never got to spent my childhood and teenager years out of the bookshop. Somehow, I had always managed to get into the hospital when I left the comfort of the store.

When I was six, my mother had taken me to ballet classes; it had resulted in a sprained ankle and the end of my dancing career.

When I was seven, I decided basketball was an interesting sport; I had ended up with a broken arm and a fear of round objects being thrown at me.

At eleven, my mother had wanted to impress some of her posh friends and we had all gone to a club to horse-ride; which concluded when I fell from 'Snowy Princess' and broke my leg.

At fourteen, in a school trip, I discovered I was allergic to bees' sting.

When I was sixteen, I paid the doctor a visit after hitting my head when I fell down the stairs of my own house. Five stitches on my knee.

So now you get an idea why I didn't feel too happy to be back.

Coming near the front desk, I realized I might not be let in to visit Peter Hale. So I decided to lie from the beginning to assure me passage.

"Hi," I smiled at the woman behind the counter. "I'm here to visit my uncle, Peter Hale."

"Sure. What's your name, sweetie?"

"Laura Hale," I lied. "I just came back from Seattle."

The woman typed something in her computer, though I got the impression that it was just for show and she let me in.

Peter Hale's room was just as the rest of the hospital rooms; devoid of decoration and simple, with a bed and little more furniture.

"Peter?" I called. The lights were off so I could only see his silhouette. I looked behind me. The nurse had left. "Peter Hale?"

No response.

I took a step. "I'm Imogene Wise. I just wanted to talk with you."

No response.

"Is it fine if I come in?"

No response. My pulse quickened.

"I'm coming in," I announced.

I was met by silence, only interrupted by my frantic breathing.

I rounded on him, the moon illuminating a new part of his face with every little step I took. I couldn't suppress the gasp that left my parted lips when I saw his scarred face. I understood then why this was a one-sided conversation.

"Peter?" I asked again.

Nothing.

"Could you give me maybe some kind of sign? I don't know, blink or something if you can hear me…"

The only movement came from the curtains softly dancing at the rhythm of the breeze.

"This is important. I think I know who did this to you, but I need your help. Can you hear me?"

No, he couldn't, as everything I got was a dead stare.

I sighed discouraged. "This is stupid," I muttered.

I sat up from my crouched position in front of Peter Hale's motionless body and shrieked when I saw that we weren't alone. A young man glared at me front the door.

"Who are you?" he asked angrily.

I gripped my bag tightly and tried to find my voice. It came out unusually high pitched. "Laura Hale."

First mistake, as I would realize later.

I didn't think a single person could look so intimidating and I felt the urge to jump out of the window just to not have to deal with this stranger that was murdering me with his cold eyes.

But when I thought he was going to start screaming and yelling at me, he proved me wrong. "You are not Laura Hale," he said calmly, but with an underlying intensity.

"Who are you?" I shot back.

"Derek Hale. I'll ask you again, who are you?"

I swallowed. "Imogene Wise."

"You are not supposed to be here. What are you doing here?"

So this was why he hadn't snapped at me yet. He wanted first to find out more about me and my intentions. But I didn't care anymore. I was still shocked. When I had seen my hopes crushed by Peter's bad condition, I discovered that Derek Hale was back in Beacon Hills. This was my best shot.

"Listen, I think the fire that happened six years ago," _the one which killed your family_ , "I think it wasn't an accident," I paused to gauge his expression. I couldn't make anything out of it. "I think it was deliberate."

I saw him take a deep breath and I was sure this time he was going to yell at me. I even prepared myself for his outburst. What I didn't prepare myself for was for him to close our distance in three long strides and point a finger at me. "Get out of here and forget about my family," he said through gritted teeth.

I forgot how to breathe.

"You know what happened that night," I whispered. I wasn't a question and it surprised both of us.

"Who are you?" he asked again. God, he was thick.

"I told you, my name is Imogene Wise!" I didn't know where this confidence was coming from.

"Why are you here?"

"Were you even listening-?!"

"Why are you posing as my sister?"

"I-I wanted to speak with Peter…"

"Why?"

"I have been investigating the Hale's fire…"

"Why?"

I opened my mouth but no sounds came out. I found myself looking into this stranger's furious glare as my mind tried to formulate an answer for the only question I couldn't rationalize. I had spent my whole life submerged in crime novels and I had wanted the world from those pages to be the world I lived in.

Derek Hale nodded to himself, disdain and pity etched in his fine features. "Keep out of this, forget everything about my family and the fire. This is a warning, I won't tell you again. Now, leave."

I didn't have to be told twice.

The ride back to my house happened in a daze. I barely acknowledged my parents and ran to my bedroom.

I cleaned the blackboard. I took my notebooks and threw them inside the wardrobe. I took out my notes from the red book, so tomorrow I could give it to Chris Argent.

That night, for the first night in eight years, I didn't read before to sleep.

* * *

 **Did you know?**

' _Giants, Monsters & Dragons: An Encyclopedia of Folklore, Legend and Myth_', ' _White Wolf Woman & Other Native American Transformation Myths' _and _'Myths of the Dog-Man'_ are real books. The other books offered by Imogene are an invention of the author.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** set in 1x02.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"Imogene!" I heard Kenneth call my name. I came down the ladder and met him at the door.

"Good morning, Kenneth," I told him with a smile.

"Newspaper," he laughed, motioning to the eleven newspapers by his feet.

"Yes, about that… I don't want the newspapers anymore, Kenneth."

"What?"

"I, um… I said I don't need the newspapers anymore. Thank you for all these years, but I won't need you to bring me those anymore."

"Why?" he asked, confused, so his thick eyebrows almost touched.

I shrugged. "It's not my thing anymore."

"I have to say that it really saddens me, Imogene," Kenneth said, "One last hug?"

I laughed. "Kenneth, we'll see each other. It's not like I'm leaving Beacon Hills." I hugged the man. "I'll miss you here every morning, old man."

He laughed in his adorable Santa laugh. "I'll miss you too, young lady. Don't break many hearts."

"I don't make any promises!" I shouted back.

My father stared at me. "You don't want any newspapers?"

I shrugged. "I figured I have better things to occupy my time with."

"Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?"

I chuckled, dusting off some upper shelves. "It's not such a big deal. I just realized there's more to life than meddling in other people's business."

"Did something happen?" Parents and their innate ability to read their progeny like an open book.

"I have been thinking… about what you told me, about college…"

His dark eyes brightened. "You have decided anything yet?"

"I don't know. I suppose I wouldn't mind studying Law or Psychology…"

My father smiled. "Psychology! That's a new one! I like it. I think my second cousin studied Psychology… or it was your aunt Clementine?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not promising anything. I'll just take a look at some universities and such…"

"I'll bring you information," my father said.

"Dad, you don't have to." I smiled. "And I have retrieved the book from Stiles. I'll deliver it to Chris Argent after we close, if you don't mind."

"No, not at all." My father kissed my right temple. I hadn't seen him so proud in years. "I have the best daughter."

I smiled at him, but somehow it felt forced.

* * *

I didn't give the book to Chris Argent that day.

Not that I didn't want to; I had forgotten to take it with me when I left home that morning.

The next day, however, I decided to go to the Argents before my father opened the bookstore, that is, very early.

And what other thing it is delivered very early? Newspapers.

And thus, I found myself staring at the newspaper laying on the Argent's grass, clutching the red book.

I read the article another time.

' _Hair found on dead body confirmed to be animal hair…' '… the hair belongs to a member of the Canidae family…' '… hair confirmed to be from a wolf…_ '.

The front door of the Argent house opened and I hid the book behind my back.

Chris Argent exited, along a girl a few years younger than me, but much more beautiful.

"Imogene! Good Morning! What brings you here?" he said.

I shrugged, trying to calm my nerves. "Not much."

"Have you met my daughter, Allison?"

"I don't think so. Nice to meet you, Allison."

The girl smiled the sweetest smile. "You too."

"There was anything you needed? I have to drop Allison off at school or she'll be late," Chris said.

"Um, I just came to inform you that my father hasn't found the book you wanted yet, but that he's working on it," I told him. And of course, I failed to keep my mouth shut. "Is there any chance you wouldn't want any other similar book?"

"Oh, no. That book is very special. I don't think there's any other similar book out there."

I whistled. "It sounds like a really interesting book. What makes it so special?"

"Well, it's really old. A limited edition, you could say." I frowned. I could have sworn I used those same words a few days ago. "I'm afraid I have to go. Thank your father. Goodbye, Imogene."

I squinted as I saw them leave in their SUV. I inspected the book in my hands.

People use to underestimate books. They are paper and ink and little more. They are fragile, they grow old as people, their words fade away.

But in that moment, standing in the middle of the street, I felt like that simple worn book was the key to much bigger things and my father's words echoed in my mind 'Never underestimate the power of knowledge'.

* * *

Wednesday saw me revisiting the red book. I was sure I had read every single word several times by now. As I was sure some important detail was evading me.

The book provided an interesting take on werewolves. It explained in detail the way a pack was formed and the hierarchy beneath it. From Alpha to Omega, the lone wolf. It also spoke about the different ways of being turned into a wolf and the existence of entire families of natural born werewolves. A whole chapter was dedicated to werewolves' powers: enhanced speed, strength, healing…

But it all belonged to fantasy and myths.

How was this supposed to help me solve a crime?

Yes, I had reverted to my old habits and I was dead set on shedding some light on the Hale's business. As long as I could keep away from Derek Hale, I would be fine.

My encounter in the hospital with him had indeed had an effect on me. Instead of taking up again my investigation from the point I left it, I took a turn to a new perspective. If I couldn't continue digging up into the Hale's fire, I would focus on the other elements of the diagram.

The bell by the door alerted my presence in the bookshop. Mia was by the counter, chewing gum and reading a magazine. "You are late. Why? You are never late," she said.

"I had things to do."

She looked up. "You look like shit," she informed me, though I already knew it. I hadn't slept in two days, spending my nights in translating Latin parts from the book.

"I know." I sat in a stool beside her, careful not drop my bag. I didn't want the crystal tubes filled with aconitum to break. I had picked up a thing or two about werewolves from the book.

"What have you been up to?" she asked.

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

"I'm starting to believe werewolves might be real."

She gawked at me. "And _that's_ why you never get a boyfriend."

I ignored her. "Mia, what do you know about Stiles Stilinsky?"

She casted me a naughty smile. "Why do you want to know? You have a crush or something?"

I rolled my eyes. "Or something. Say, what do you know?"

"Well, he's a nerd. He plays lacrosse… well, more like sits on the bench. Not very good grades. He's in love with Lydia Martin, school's queen bee, who is dating the hottest boy-"

"Mia," I interrupted her. "Focus."

"Best friend is Scott McCall, who just discovered that is a pro at lacrosse…"

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean 'just discovered'?"

She waved a hand vaguely. "It's weird, actually. All these past years he was the worst player ever. And I mean it. He was really bad. Asthmatic and uncoordinated. I don't even know how he got into the team. And this year, he happens to be the best player. You should see him." She sighted dreamily. "He's even better than Jackson."

I chuckled. "You make it sound like he got superpowers."

"Kind of." She returned her attention to the magazine. "Anyway, he's now dating the new girl, Alice or Alisha or something…"

I leant forward. "Allison? Allison Argent?"

Mia snapped her fingers. "That's it. Allison! Do you know her?" She didn't wait for my answer. "A shame, if you ask me. Scott could do much better. He's quite handsome, you know. Charming… oh, look! Photos of Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart going for a walk!"

"Mia."

"Aren't they cute?"

"Mia."

"He's too good for her."

"Mia."

"I'm more beautiful."

"Mia!"

"What?!" she snapped back.

"You usually go to the lacrosse games, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, the hottest guys always go."

"When is the next game?"

"This Saturday. Cody is taking me." She giggled.

"I'll go with you."

"No."

I frowned. "No? No what?"

"No, you can't come. It's a date! You don't bring your friends to a date unless you don't want anything with the boy. And believe me," she snickered, "I want _something_ with Cody. _Lots_ of things. "

"C'mon Mia. You're always complaining I don't want to go out with you…"

She hesitated. I didn't like a bit her wicked smile. "Okay, with two conditions."

I nodded.

"One, I get to give you a makeover."

I made a face. "Fine."

"And two, it's a double date. You go with Cody's friend Paul."

I groaned.

"Don't look so gloom. He's nice."

I buried my face in my hands. The things I do for curiosity.

* * *

Finding information about the Argents proved to be more difficult than I had expected. And trust me, I had expected it to be very difficult.

Luckily, Mia was a social animal and she had practically the whole population of Beacon Hills with access to internet added on facebook. It wasn't difficult to hack into her account when her password was '123456789Mia'.

Through that, I found out that Allison Argent had barely lived more than a year in the same place. After that, I checked online news from each one of those places she has lived on. Some fires near where she lived caught my attention, but nothing important enough to draw conclusions.

If the Argents were behind those crimes, they were very careful and methodical.

So I had to be even more methodical and spent my day researching the Argent family history. Somehow I ended in the library, reading about 'the Beast of Gévaudan'. Those years studying French and holidays in Paris, all under the wishes of my mother, paid off.

I let out a small shout of excitement when I found a direct connection with the Argent family. They were descendant of the hunter that killed the beast, described as a wolf like creature.

Several heads turned towards me, since I couldn't stay still. Suddenly everything seemed to click together. I dropped my head and took my notebook. After scribbling some final notes, I headed home.

The streets were quiet as I travelled them on my bicycle. I was soon overwhelmed by restleness and nervousness, but I pegged it to my natural frightful nature. I used to avoid going out so late at night, but I hadn't notice time pass as I learnt more and more about the Argents and werewolves.

You know that feeling when you're being watched? Well, it is much more unnerving when you are out alone, you cannot find what is following you and you just discovered that werewolves might or might not be real.

I sped up to the point that my calves hurt. I could already see my house.

And then it retreated. I could sense it. Going away, the feeling of safety taking over.

I could barely keep my hands from shaking to open the door. Once inside, I closed it and rested against it, trying to catch my breath.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" my mother asked from the living room. She was watching some romantic comedy while my father read.

"Yes," I stammered. "I got a little carried away with the bike."

"Great," she said. "You could join me next time I go jogging."

I let out a puff of air. "I'll think about it."

I went upstairs to my room, tied my short hair and took a chalk.

This time the diagram I drew was different.

In the right side it read 'Werewolves' and in the left 'Hunters'.

* * *

Weekends were always welcomed with joy and anticipation. Not only because it meant I didn't have to work – minus some days we used to do a bookstore clean-up -, but also because the Wise family got to spent some quality time together.

This usually came in the form of my mother dragging my father and me to do her every wish; shopping, hanging around her brainless friends, picnics, trips to other cities… It was sometimes excruciating, but other times it could turn out real fun.

Like today. Today my mom had decided that we should put some order in the attic and remember old times with photos, useless stuff and worn out clothes.

I rolled over the dusty floor, bent half in laugh as my father tried on some old tight leather pants and matching jacket.

"Tell me that isn't yours!" I exclaimed.

My father looked at himself on a cracked mirror. "It still fits."

"Those were dark times for fashion," my mom said. "It was cool back then. Your father used to have this bad boy vibe thing that was really attractive."

"Dad? Bad boy?" I snorted.

"Hey, I used to ride a bike!"

"And he had long hair," my mom added before her pager went off. We saw her grab her phone, which never abandoned her side, and call. "Hi… yes, it's me… murder, you say?... Derek Hale?... No, I don't remember it… Alright, I'll be there in thirty minutes." She hung up. "I need to go. Duty calls me," she sang song.

I rose. "I'll go with you."

"No, no. I can't take you there," she said, grabbing her stuff.

I followed her into her room. I knew I had at least fifteen minutes to convince her while she put on makeup. "Mom, I have been thinking about going to Law school. But I'm not sure. This is the perfect chance to get a feeling of it."

"No, Mimi. I'll take you other day."

"But mom…"

"Why don't you take her? If you take her on a boring day she won't want anything to do with college," my father agreed.

"It could be dangerous."

"It's a police station! It's filled with cops. It's the safest place in Beacon Hills," I told her.

She finished putting on her contact lenses before turning to me, hands on her hips. "Okay, but I'm leaving in five minutes, better be ready by that time or I'm leaving without you."

I smiled widely. "Thank you, mom." I kissed her cheek and ran to my bedroom.

Ten minutes later I was still waiting for her by the door.

* * *

I paced.

Since we arrived my mom had been talking with Derek Hale in a locked room. No one was allowed inside. That meant me. Since then I had gone through sitting in silence, tapping my fingers over my knees, reading every poster and paper on the police station walls and finally pacing.

I needed to find a way to get inside and face Derek Hale or my trip to the police station would prove useless. And now, talking with Derek Hale was crucial to my investigation.

"Coffee?" the policewoman at the front desk asked me.

If I took some coffee now I would turn into a rabid chipmunk. No thanks, my nerves were bad enough. I glanced at the closed door and my bag filled with aconitum. "Yes, please."

With a shot of coffee and sugar my pacing turned into almost running. I collided once with a policeman, who dropped a bunch of papers. Formularies, I noticed as I helped him pick them up. Suddenly, I got an idea. A very bright stupid idea. I took several formularies with me.

"Thank you very much," the young policeman smiled.

"You're welcome."

God, when had I become such a criminal? This was nothing like me, little coward bookworm Imogene. But the adrenaline was back and my tension was sky-high and I needed to do this. This past week of no sleep and translating old texts deserved it.

Three hours spent my mother inside with Derek Hale. Whatever he said, my mother didn't like it.

"Mom-" I walked to her.

"Later, Mimi," she said and went straight to the Sheriff's office. Yes, he had pissed her off badly.

I snuck a glance at the door, guarded by a cop. I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself that I could do this. It didn't work but I went with it nonetheless.

"Excuse me," I said to the policewoman, "can you tell me where the bathroom is?"

"Yes, third door on the right."

"Thank you."

I grabbed my bag and marched towards the bathroom. I didn't get to open the door and moved towards the room where Derek was kept.

Of course, the guard didn't approve of me being there. "No one can go inside."

I took the papers the other policeman had dropped and thrust them in front of his face so I almost slapped him with them. "Do you have any idea what these are?"

"No," he stuttered.

"These are some very important papers the detainee has to sign," I growled at him. "Let me in now or Diana Wise will have your head on a spike."

"Only she can go inside if he is to sign anything." I had to give him some credit.

"Look, I'm her daughter and a Law student. She has sent me herself to do it." He stared at me, I tried not to flinch. "It will be only five minutes."

"Only five minutes?"

"Maybe less."

He sighted and opened the door for me and closed it behind.

It was then when I realized that this was definitely a bad idea. Derek Hale was intimidating even when handcuffed.

He looked up and grunted when he saw me. "What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone."

"Relax," I told him, trying to mask my discomfort and fear with a new found cockiness fueled by the adrenaline. "I just came here so you can sign a few papers. My mother is your attorney and she sent me."

I scattered the papers in front of him. I hadn't even read what they were about and I hoped he wouldn't. He didn't take his eyes from me, so I began to cherish some hope.

And now, the final trick. My only ace. The all-in.

I took the golden pen from my bag and handed it to him.

"What are these about?" he asked.

"Um, you know, your regular juridical stuff." He flicked an eyebrow, so I elaborated, "it says that you accept my mother as your lawyer and you'll tell her the truth and things like that…" He narrowed his eyes and kept glaring at me. I could feel my heart beating frenetically against my chest. "Oh, sign it already, for God's sake, so I can leave."

That seemed a good enough prospect, because he took the pen. My eyes widened in anticipation.

He looked up. "Where do I have to sign?"

I sighted frustrated and pointed at random blank spaces. "Here, here, here and here."

He pursued his lips and his jaw tightened. He fixed me a last hostile glare before putting down the pen to sign.

My nails dug into the palms of my hands under the table. A dormant instinct kicked in and told me to prepare to run for what was to come.

He looked up and I could have killed him.

He cocked his head slightly to one side and sneered. "Did you really think I was going to be as stupid as to sign with a wolfsbane filled pen?"

My blood freeze.

I glanced at the closed metallic door. Would the policeman be so quick as to come inside and save me?

 _Think quick, act faster_.

"That's what plan B is for," I said and smashed one full vial of wolfsbane on the table. I sat up and moved to the further wall of the room from him, the one behind me. It had been surely the most daring thing I had done in my whole life. But I hadn't time to pat myself in the back, as something out of my worst nightmares developed in front of my eyes.

I didn't know where to look, if at the growing claws, the bared fangs or the glowing blue eyes. I was paralyzed by terror and wonder.

And just then I realized my plan sucked. I hadn't thought what I would do if Derek indeed was a werewolf because I didn't fathom the idea that werewolves could be more than creatures from novels and fairytales.

 _Think quick, act faster_.

I couldn't let anyone find me in a locked room with a werewolf who was, by the way, charged with murder, and a table dripping with poison. I took off my cardigan, prayed it was thick enough and draped it over the table, taking with it the soaked papers and trying to clean the surface.

Derek had already regained some control, but seemed to be fighting to stay human.

"This is not going to work," I muttered. What if my mother came in next and leant over an aconitum soaked table?

"Move back," Derek snarled.

I obliged. And he hit the table. With his bare arms. And the metallic table bent in an acute angle. I yelled. He then took it by the legs and threw it up against the ceiling. Bits of it fell. The door opened. He looked almost as frightened as I felt.

The policeman, and its two companions, aimed their guns at him. He raised his hands.

"The ceiling fell!" he exclaimed, pointing to the rubble and the destroyed table.

Very smart.

"Don't move!" the policeman shouted.

I saw the scene almost like an outsider. I thought about those articles I had read about shock, but my mind was in override and I couldn't process any coherent thought.

In the distance, I heard my mother scream. And the Sheriff.

"What happened?" he asked. I knew Derek needed me to play my part for this to work.

"The ceiling fell!" I yelled. I took my bag and put my jacket on it quickly, rushing out of the room between bewildered cops. "It all happened so suddenly! One moment it was up and the next it was down!" I was being loud and flailing my arms. I didn't care if everything that came out of my mouth sounded dumb; it was supposed to. Less questions.

"Calm down, calm down, Mimi," my mother shook me, her hands firm in my shoulders. "I'll take you home. Wait here."

I sat by the front desk draped in a blanket some policeman had given me. Ten minutes later, I sat in my mother's expensive SUV.

Her driving had never been the best, but I knew she was agitated by the way the car lunged forward violently.

Eventually, she turned her head towards me. "Why were you there?"

I considered playing dumb, but my mom was already too furious. I looked down, ashamed. I hated lying to my mother, but she wouldn't understand. No one would understand if I tried to tell him or her that I had seen a werewolf. "I wanted to interrogate him about the fire."

She hit the steering wheel with balled fists. "Damn it, Imogene! Don't you understand that you can't go around interrogating potential murderers? Taking delight in other people's pain? Their tragedy is not for your amusement!"

I kept quiet. Somehow I knew she was right.

"You are not an investigator! You're only obsessed with crime and mystery novels, but you have to realize that books are not reality. This behavior has to stop!"

I casted my eyes down and nodded.

"You are grounded and if I ever see you near anything remotely related to the Hales, prepare yourself, young lady," my mom sentenced.

I jumped in my seat. "But mom, today's the lacrosse game. I promised Mia I'll go with her!"

"Well, that was before my daughter decided to lie to the authorities to talk about God-knows-what with a murder suspect."

"I'm twenty one years old! You can no longer ground me."

She snorted. "Oh, as long as you live under my roof, I can ground you, and I will."

I crossed my arms and glared at the passing houses.

Well, now I had more time to think about what to make of Derek Hale being a mythical creature.

* * *

Derek Hale turned a taboo issue in my home.

The moment his name was brought up my mom grimaced and her mood turned sour. So we didn't talk about him.

The only time he had been topic of conversation was after he was released and when my mother had explained to my father why I couldn't leave his sight. The official version was that I had wanted to get a feeling of the attorney's life and had ventured to interrogate the man. It didn't differ that much from what truly happened. Minus the werewolf thing, of course.

I didn't know how to feel about Derek Hale's release. This aggravated when I learnt that the reason behind it was animal hair found on the body. And that the body belonged to Laura Hale.

I tried to rationalize it, but it didn't make sense. From my knowledge derived from the red book, werewolves were very protective of their packs and the only chance of one of them attacking another was in a fight for power.

If Laura Hale was to have power over Derek, it would mean that she must have been superior in the hierarchy, which could only mean that she must have been an Alpha. If she were a Beta, and Derek an Omega, he wouldn't have achieved anything by killing her except possibly pissing off an Alpha, which wasn't favorable and a stupid thing to do.

But the image of those glowing eyes was burnt in my mind, and even in the craziness that ensued, I could tell they were blue. Not red, not Alpha.

Which brought me to the next consideration: why? Every killer has a motive. Even serial killers have a motive, even when their motive is to get satisfaction from killing. And Derek Hale didn't sound like the type to vanish his whole family without a purpose. And following the hypothesis that the Hale family was a born-werewolf family, it was way more logical to think that it was the family with a hunters' background who disappeared after the fire who did it, instead of a member of the own pack.

To keep it simple, the death of his whole family, besides emotionally painful, was nothing but drawbacks for Derek Hale. Werewolves were stronger in packs, so it meant a lost in power. Werewolves were protective of their kind, so it meant a crime against his own nature.

But the clues suggested that Laura Hale was murdered by a werewolf. If we ruled out Derek Hale as the murderer, it meant that there must be other werewolf in Beacon Hills. And Mia was the key. I remembered our conversation prior to the lacrosse game and my scene at the police station.

She had led me to believe that Scott McCall was another werewolf. That's why I had wanted to go to the lacrosse game to begin with. And it made sense. Scott dated Allison Argent. The Argents were hunters and wanted the werewolves eradicated. They burnt the Hale's residence six years ago and almost succeed. Except that Derek, Laura and Peter survived.

Now they were back to finish their job. And what better way than by means of a werewolf. It was brilliant! People wouldn't question their presence in the town and the murders if the deaths were to be declared as an animal attack.

It could only mean one thing. Scott McCall was a werewolf helping the Argents in killing off the remaining survivors from the Hale's fire. That's why he was the one that found the body buried in the Hale's house. They had wanted to frame Derek with murder.

I tried to find information about humans controlling werewolves in the red book, but came empty handed. I concluded that Scott must be helping them so he could date Allison. Or maybe even as a truce pact so the hunters didn't make him their prey.

I looked at the blackboard. The words 'Dead girl', 'Werewolves', 'Argent family' and 'Hale's fire' were written again, but this time, they were all connected.

I smirked.

The questions were finally meeting answers. Crime was shaping into war and mystery was turning into supernatural.

And I was now in the middle of it all.

And it scared me.

* * *

 **Did you know?**

The name 'Imogen' first appears in _Cymbeline_ , a play by William Shakespeare. 'Imogene' is just a variation of 'Imogen'.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** set in 1x03.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

"You are a nut job, you know it, right?" Mia told me the first morning I reincorporated to work. "Going after serial killers and all that, standing me up…"

I sighted ruefully. "I told you on the phone I was sorry."

"Yeah, well, Cody and I had to endure Paul's fart jokes thanks to you, Agatha Christie."

I raised my eyebrows and grinned. "Wow, Mia, was that a literature reference?"

"Shut up," she complained as she kept doodling flowers on the accounts book.

"By the way, there was something I wanted to ask you." Now I got her attention again. Mia was Mia's favorite conversation topic. "How went the lacrosse game?"

"Well, Cody tried to get to second base while-"

"Did we win?" I interrupted before I lost my ability to look her in the eyes.

"Yes. Thanks to McCall! I swear, it was so awesome. One second he sucked, the next he was running like crazy and scoring and…" She sighted dreamingly. "It was amazing. Jackson did well too, but McCall was just… another level of awesome."

"Did you… notice something weird?"

"Define weird. Lots of things are weird to me. You are weird."

I pondered. "Weird like… anything out of the ordinary… Did he seem… supernatural?"

"Supernatural?" Mia repeated, ultra thin eyebrows up.

I nodded.

"Well, McCall is cute, but he's no Pattinson."

I rolled my eyes. This was not working. Then I recalled Mia's favorite thing after shopping. Taking photos! Indeed, she was pretty good at it, a surprising artistically trait for someone so superficial.

"Did you take any photos?"

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed and rummaged through her purse. Makeup, a hand mirror, a cell phone, two lighters, a pack of Marlboro, bobby pins and a pink pen later, she took out her camera.

"Here, Cody and me… Cody and Paul and me… Cody and me… Cody and me… Cody… Me... Cody and me… Me… Me… Me…"

"Mia, you didn't take any photos of McCall?" I asked her before I had to look at anymore photos of her.

She frowned. "Why would I do that? He has a girlfriend!"

I slapped my forehead in desperation. "Right."

"I'm starting to think you have a little crush on McCall, Mimi," she said, very serious. "That's why you wanted to know more about Stilinsky, right? So you could get closer to him through his friend!"

"No, Mia, it's not-"

"Well, Cody recorded most of the game. Something about journalism…"

"What did you say?" I interrupted her.

"Cody spent most of the game focused on… well, the game. And not me," she complained.

"Cody recorded the game?"

"That's what I said."

I laughed. "Well, that's perfect!" I smiled. "Do you think he could get me a copy?"

She opened the mirror and reapplied her gloss. "I guess."

"Will you ask him to make me a copy?"

She closed the mirror, outraged. "No way!"

I gaped at her. "Why?"

"Because Cody and I are no longer a thing!"

I blinked, confused. "What? You guys were dating three days ago!"

"Well, I dumped him."

"Why?"

"He didn't pay me enough attention!" she said as a matter-of-fact.

"Can't you do me this one favor? Just this one?"

"No."

"I'll pay you! I'll tell my father to give you a rise! I'll go shopping with you! I'll go out with Paul!" Each one of my offers was turned down by a graceful shake of her head.

"There's no way I'll speak to Cody again."

I slouched back against the counter, until an idea popped in my mind. "You don't have to. I'll talk with him. Just give me his number."

"No," she exclaimed. "You can't talk with my ex."

"I'll just ask him for the recording, nothing more!"

She shook her head.

"I'll-I'll tell him how happy you are now that you're single! That will surely make him jealous."

"Why would I want that?" Mia shrilled.

"I-I… don't… know…" I admitted.

"Look, if you're so desperate to get that recording, I'll make you a deal." God, since when I had made a habit of selling my soul to the Devil herself? "I'll give you Cody's number if you get me a date with Rick."

"Who's Rick?"

With a flick of her platinum blonde hair, Mia announced, "My next boyfriend."

With my face buried in my hands, I said, "Deal."

* * *

It had been a few years since the last time I stepped on Beacon Hills High School, but little had changed. Popular kids hung out with popular kids, nerds kids hung out with nerd kids and so on.

I greeted teachers as I roamed the corridors, looking for Rick. After two hours of stalking him through facebook with Mia I felt I could identify the kid in a crowd of thousands.

But it wasn't my only reason to be there.

Cody had told me to meet him by the cafeteria. And he was punctual, waiting for me leaning against the wall while teenagers rushed to class.

"Are you Cody?" I asked him.

"Are you Imogene?" he said, slurring the words as if it pained him to pronounce them correctly.

"Yes, have you brought the copy?"

He nodded and held up a DVD with two fingers. I made to grab it, but he moved it away. "With one condition. You help me get Mia back."

I didn't have time for this. "I'll pay you and you take her out to a nice place."

He shook his head. "She won't talk to me."

Damned teenagers! Here I was discovering Beacon Hills was plagued with werewolves and they only cared about their stupid love lives.

I heaved a sigh. "Deal. I'll get her to talk to you."

"And be my girlfriend again."

I rolled my eyes. "And be your girlfriend again."

"Cool." He handed me the DVD. "Thanks."

"Yes, yes. Shouldn't you be in class?"

He nodded and scurried down the corridor. I ran a hand through my short tresses of brown hair. Time to see if I had just wasted my time.

The school's library was deserted, except for the librarian, who shot me a menacing look. I figured she thought I was skipping class. I used one of the computers to play the video. After several minutes of boring lacrosse game, the camera focused on a half bent Scott McCall. I kept watching. If supernatural speed and strength were werewolf indicators, then I had enough proof of McCall's true nature.

My theories were confirmed when, in a brief glimpse, McCall's eyes glowed yellow. It was a fraction of second, and I had to replay it several times to check that, in fact, those were werewolf eyes. I shuddered.

I left the library, ready to go back to the store before my dad found out that I wasn't delivering some books to poor old Maggie who had just fallen down the stairs and had a hip fracture. I had promised myself this was the last time I lied to my parents.

But as I was leaving, I noticed several police cars and an ambulance. Lucky me to stumble across a crime scene. As a reflex, I gripped tighter my bag.

No, I told myself, I had promised my mother to stay away from crimes and criminals.

But it was such a good coincidence!

And she wouldn't have to find out I had been here.

And it would be just a peek.

And if I didn't do it, I'd regret it. At least, I had to find out who was the victim, if the red blood all over the bus was any indication that there was one.

Criminalists gathered clues, some of them taking photos, some of them looking for DNA and other evidences. I strode around the bus, taking in every detail, trying to look as if I belonged there, to not raise suspicions that I was indeed breaking into a crime scene investigation.

The bus' door had been torn out, there were claw marks and blood, a lot of blood. I swallowed and forced my stomach to settle. I had always been squeamish around blood.

By the look of things, everything pointed to an animal attack. I knew better.

One of the criminalists walked away and I considered for a moment what I was about to do before I crossed the police security line. When the tip of my fingers almost grazed the claw marks, a strong hand pulled me away from the bus.

Sheriff Stilinsky's grip on my forearm hurt and I hissed in pain. He took me to a side, near the ambulance.

"What the hell are you doing?" he bellowed.

"I-I was trying to get across the parking to go home," I said. It wasn't the best explanation, but it was the first that crossed my mind.

"And you didn't notice a crime scene?"

I dropped my eyes to the ground, feeling small and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, sir. I was just curious."

He did seem to take pity on me, because his eyes softened. "Imogene. That was your name, right?" I nodded. "You have to understand that I cannot let anyone prance freely into a crime scene. And believe me, it's for your own good. There're things you don't want to see."

We didn't notice the policemen and paramedics pushing the stretcher until the man lying on it started screaming. His howls were of horror and pain and I raised my hands to cover my ears.

The men around him tried to make him lie down and the Sheriff squeezed my shoulder one last time and said, "You better leave, Imogene. Remember what I've told you."

"Yes sir."

I ran.

That was the single scariest thing I had ever witnessed.

If flashes of fangs and claws and glowing eyes had plagued my nightmares lately, now I had a new vivid image to add.

I thought I recognized the man. He was Garrison Myers, the school's bus driver. I had barely talked with him, but I remembered him from when I had to take the bus. Mom and dad were always busy, so I had to use public transport. But I knew more about him. Previous to his driver career, Myers had been an insurance investigator. Coincidently, he stopped being it after he was accused of fraud in his investigation of the Hale's fire.

So the question now was: why him? Why did the Argents feel the need to eliminate him? Or maybe that wasn't their purpose… After all, the bus driver was still alive, though badly injured.

I pursued my lips. What if McCall wasn't the only murderer?

McCall!

I suddenly remembered that the DVD was still at the school's computer.

I made a sharp turn with my bicycle and headed back towards the school. God, how had I been so sloppy? I would make the worst criminal ever.

I dashed through the empty corridors and darted into the library.

"Running is forbidden!" the librarian yelled, but I ignored her.

I threw myself into the chair and didn't breathe until the computer expelled the DVD. Several astonished eyes stared at me while I clutched the DVD against my chest.

I shrugged. "It's a very important project."

The bell rang as I left the library. Students promenaded out of their classes with the calmness of those who would rather be anywhere else but in their next class. I opened my eyes wide. Maybe I could find Rick now.

I found someone else instead.

"Scott McCall?" I asked the tall boy, flanked by his inseparable friend, the lanky Stiles Stilinsky, who looked at me with the same distrust I looked at them.

"Yeah, but I don't have time now. I have English class," he answered, passing by my side.

"I know what you are," I told his retreating back. Both stopped. "And I know what you did."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Scott said.

"Why did you attack the bus driver?" I pressed.

The flock of students and teachers around us made me bold, so when he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to an empty classroom, I lost all my bravado. I shouldn't have left the aconitum at home.

"What do you know?" Scott asked me.

I backed, trying to get as far from him as possible. Did I really think something good would come from facing alone a supernatural murderer? Hadn't I learnt anything from the books?

"Tell me," he said.

There wasn't anger or belligerence in his tone, so I cocked my head to one side and answered, "You are a werewolf."

Stiles snorted and punched his friend in the arm, who mustered a painful grin. "A werewolf!" exclaimed Stiles. "Isn't she crazy?" He turned to me. "Listen, you have been reading too many fantasy books."

I frowned. "I saw you! On the field, playing lacrosse, your eyes glowed yellow and your strength wasn't human!"

Stiles laughed again. "And that's what you get from reading too much Twilight!"

I felt offended. Was I really losing my mind? I needed to prove this to be real. I took a step forward. "So I guess if I did bring tomorrow some aconitum to school you'll be fine." Another small step. "And we could hang out on a full moon and see nothing happen." Another step. My hands formed fists to stop from shaking. "And you could show me how you don't heal if you get cut." One final step. Now we were nose to nose. "Why did you try to kill the bus driver?" I whispered.

I could hear his heavy breathing. "I didn't do it."

I narrowed my eyes and allowed myself a little smirk. I was trembling underneath this false cockiness. "But you don't deny you're a werewolf."

Stiles separated us by pushing Scott back with a hand to his chest. "And how do you explain your apparently vast knowledge in lycanthropy? Why do you keep medieval books about them? And more importantly, why do you show up at crime scenes and bond with potential killers?"

It was hard to be on the other end of the accusations.

I grew restless. "I-I…"

"Are you a hunter?" Stiles asked.

"No!" I exclaimed.

"Then how do you explain all that?"

I rubbed my sweaty hands over my jeans and half-smiled. "I see now how you're the Sheriff's son." Stiles grinned triumphantly. "My name's Imogene Wise and I am not a hunter. That's all you need to know. I've been investigating the Hale house fire for five years now. That's how I found out that you were a werewolf and the murderer of Laura Hale under the orders of Chris Argent."

Both boys looked flabbergasted.

"That's-" Stiles started, but Scott interrupted him.

"That's not true!"

"Yes, it is!" I defended. "You're dating Allison Argent. The Argents are a family of hunters. Laura Hale was killed by a werewolf."

"What kind of whacked logic is that?!" Stiles shouted.

"I'm not a killer!" Scott exclaimed. "Derek Hale killed his sister, not me!"

I threw my hands in the air. "That doesn't make sense!"

"And Scott being the Argent's pup does? Who gave you the detective card? Because he was clearly impaired," Stiles said, running a hand through his buzz cut.

"Who told you all of this?" Scott asked me.

"I figured it out by myself."

"The werewolves and the hunters too?"

I shook my head slowly, "No, I read it in a book."

"The red book," Stiles interjected.

I nodded. "How can I be sure you didn't murder Laura Hale?"

Scott stared at me. His black eyes were gentle and he didn't give off the vibe of a serial killer. He looked almost helpless. "I wasn't even a werewolf when she was murdered. I got bit the night the police found out the first part of her body."

"Who bit you?"

"Derek Hale."

"How are you so sure he's the murderer?"

"We found Laura's other half buried in his yard," Stiles explained.

"That's not conclusive," I said.

"But figuring out Scott's a killer because he's dating Allison it is, isn't it?" Stiles snapped.

I pursued my lips and my nostrils flared. "Okay, I'm sorry I got a little bit carried away in my suppositions." I pointed a finger at Scott. "But this doesn't mean I'm ruling you out as a suspect."

"I swear! I haven't killed anyone!" Scott moaned.

"What about the Argents? If you're a werewolf why haven't they attacked you? Is it because of Allison?"

"No, no. They don't know I'm a werewolf. No one does! And it should stay that way," Scott seized me by the shoulders. "Will you keep the secret? I swear I have nothing to do with Laura Hale's murder or the Argents."

I scurried out of his grasp. I wasn't too fond of physical contact, way less from a werewolf. "I'll stay quiet if you tell me everything you know about the Argents and Derek Hale."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Stiles said.

"How do I know you're not lying?" I responded.

"I'm not!" Scott yelled. "Just please don't tell anyone." He sounded desperate.

Didn't the best detectives have a natural instinct and sixth sense? Well, if I were to have one, it would now be telling me to believe Scott McCall.

"Come tonight to the Wise Family bookstore. It has a sign with the silhouette of a bird at the entrance. I'll be there and we'll discuss all of this. Ok?"

Scott nodded obediently. Stiles squared his jaw.

"Both of you," I insisted.

He raised a hand. "Alright, ok."

I moved to the door and said over my shoulder "Don't be late for class."

* * *

I went directly to my home.

Dad was eating something with too much salt, but dropped his fork when he heard me close the front door.

The house was so quiet I heard him when he said, "You didn't come this morning to the store."

I walked to the kitchen. "I told you I was visiting Maggie."

"The whole morning?"

"Well, yes. She kept talking and talking and then she baked some cookies." I smiled. "I think she didn't want to be left alone."

"How's her hip?"

"Well, she's on meds, so the pain is not her main problem."

"What books did you give her?"

"Oh, some old classics. Poetry from Plath, something from Austen, ' _Gone with the wind_ '…"

"She'll like it," my father said and resumed his eating.

"Um, dad." I played with my jacket's sleeves. "Since I didn't work this morning, I've thought that tonight I'll make inventory."

"It doesn't matter Imogene. It's just a morning."

"No, I insist. If we're going to get rid of the bookstore we should better start making inventory of all the books." I crossed my fingers behind my back.

"If you're so intent to do it, then you know where the keys are. Just don't stay until too late. Tomorrow, Saturday, we open up."

"Okay, dad."

I grinned all the way up the stairs to my room. My bag hit the floor as I freeze.

Someone had been in my room while I was away.

Why did I know?

Well, I hated when drawers or doors didn't fully closed. Just like my wardrobe's door right now.

I ambled around my room, trying to find any other indicative of a foreign presence in there. I opened my desk's second drawer and took a vial of aconitum. It didn't matter if the intruder was werewolf or human, wolfsbane would do the trick.

I checked every corner and possible hiding place. It didn't take me long, as my room wasn't the biggest.

In a flash, my eyes widened and the vial almost slipped out of my hands.

The red book!

Putting down the vial, I raised my mattress.

Nothing.

It was supposed to be there!

I was sure I had left it there. I always did. Still, I started searching thoroughly around my room for it. I emptied drawers, took out all of my clothes, moved furniture… all in vain.

And when it was clear the book was no longer there, I looked for it again, moved by despair.

"Imogene!" my dad called me front downstairs. I had to go to work. A tiny spark of hope rose in my chest. Maybe I left it in the store by mistake.

I took my bag, careful to slip into it two vials of aconitum and went to meet my father.

I spent the rest of the day worrying about the book. Who had taken it? Why? How?

I didn't feel safe anymore anywhere. If someone had broken into my house, then what else they could do?

Solving mysteries seemed now unimportant. The sense of survival was stronger.

I almost didn't notice my father leave. It just sank in when silence engulfed the store and the dim light drew monstrous shadows everywhere. But I didn't stop searching.

I had considered the option that my father had taken the book, so his office was where I first looked in. Nothing. Then I moved to the counter, the cashier, every single shelf… Nothing.

I slumped over the wooden desk in the office.

Someone had stolen the red book, I was better off if I admitted it and thought of a way to get it back.

A knock in the door.

I raised my head, a paper stuck to my cheek. I took it off and rubbed my cheek. I must have fallen asleep.

Knuckles ramming against the glass door.

I bolted and opened it. A nervous Stiles and a shaken Scott waited outside.

Stiles frowned at me and moved a finger in front of my face. "What-What is wrong with your…?"

I raised both eyebrows. "With my…?"

"Your… face." I tilted my head to make him see I didn't understand him. "There's a bird on it."

I touched gingerly my cheek and felt the engraving of my father's desk embedded in my skin. "Oh." I rubbed harder and moved out of the way. "Come in."

None of us were prepared for what happened next. Scott started growling and howling, grabbing his head.

One small detail: his hands were claws.

"Out, out, out. Out!" Stiles grabbed my arm and pulled me with him out of the shop.

Scott snarled at us, baring his fangs in what was probably one of the worst visions ever. But it only got worse when we realized that he was following us and that was his declaration of intentions.

I screamed until all the air left my lungs and took cover behind a car.

Stiles was braver or more used to this, because he just put a considerable distance between Scott and him. "Scott, calm down!" he ordered.

The boy fell to his knees, bending in apparent pain. Stiles and I shared a confused look, and he smirked as if saying 'I did that, I made him stop, I'm the werewolf whisperer', but immediately turned to his prostrated friend. "Scott, are you alright?"

Scott groaned. "It's the shop," he said with labored breathing. "It's filled with wolfsbane."

Seeing as his friend was no longer intent on killing him, Stiles hurried to help him stand up. "You set a trap!" Stiles accused me. "I told you this was not a good idea," he said to Scott.

"I didn't do this!" I defended myself. "The only aconitum in the shop is in vials. It shouldn't affect him!"

Scott took a deep breath, resting against a near wall. With his eyes still closed, he said, "I don't think she did it. The wolfsbane is on the shop's walls, I can feel it."

"The walls?" I asked.

He nodded. "I think they are filled with it. That's why it only hurts me."

Right, aconitum was poisonous for humans if they ingested it or touched it, but for werewolves it was a different matter. The only near presence of aconitum was a danger to them.

I took a weary step towards the boys. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know anything about it. You have to believe me."

"Why do you work at a shop filled with wolfsbane?" Stiles asked. I opened my mouth but no explanation came out. "Well?" he insisted.

"I have no idea," I confessed.

"It looks quite convenient to me," Stiles said. "It's the reason you told us to meet you here, isn't it?"

I scowled. "No, it's not! I didn't know anything! I've just found out!"

"Who's the owner?" Scott asked.

"My father."

"What does he know about werewolves?"

I regarded the shop. "That's what I'd like to know."

* * *

We ended up all crammed into Stiles' blue Jeep. Scott had proposed we went to his house since his mother had night-shift and it was empty, but I had flatly opposed. I was grounded; the last thing I wanted was to add my mother to my list of problems.

So Stiles' Jeep was it.

I stuck my head between both boys, who had taken the front seats.

"What do you know about the Argents?" I asked casually.

"Why do we have to answer your questions?" Stiles shot back. He didn't trust me.

"How about we make questions by turns?"

"Deal," Scott said, clearly more cooperative. And maybe a little tired of our antics.

"Okay, what do you know?" I asked again.

"When I started dating Allison I didn't know they were hunters. I found out when they attacked me in the forest," he explained.

"Then how they don't know you're a werewolf?"

Stiles tsked, and said, "One question per turn. Why are you so interested in all this?"

I sighted. "Six years ago a fire broke in the Hale family house, killing eight people. Nothing ever happens in Beacon Hills, so it drew my attention. I started investigating and everything led me to believe that it wasn't an accident. Since then I have been trying to find out what was going on in Beacon Hills. Turns out for such a calm town, we have pretty interesting things going on. How do the Argents don't know you're a werewolf?"

"When they attacked me I was in my werewolf form and it was dark, so they didn't really see me. Derek Hale helped me escape," Scott said. "What is the red book?"

"It's an old book I found in my father's office about werewolves. I sold it to Stiles, but then my father told me he had already sold it and to give it back."

"But you didn't," Stiles said.

I ignored that it wasn't his time to be asking and explained, "No, I didn't. I wanted to know why that book was so important. That's how I learnt about you and Derek Hale and the hunters."

"You say that your father sold it, to whom?" asked Scott.

I hesitated. Should I be telling them all of this? I had planned on revealing only the necessary information, but I felt these two punks were as lost as I was.

"To Chris Argent." I read the alarm on their faces so I held up my hands. "But I didn't give it to him! I've been making up excuses these past weeks. My father still thinks I haven't found Chris Argent to deliver the book."

"Could we see it?" Scott asked.

I cringed. I glanced at both of them before I announced in a small voice, "I lost it."

Stiles twisted up in his seat. "You lost it?!"

I squirmed with embarrassment and nodded.

Stiles hit the steering wheel with both hands. "Great! Fucking great!"

"Well, I didn't really lose it. It's more like it was stolen from me sometime this morning."

"Wow, that's so much better," Stiles exclaimed sarcastically.

"Why did Chris Argent want the book?" Scott, more calmed, asked.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I read practically the whole book. The English parts and the Latin ones. It speaks about hierarchies and powers and the full moon and the effects of aconitum… But nothing I believe a hunter doesn't already know."

"Do you think your father can be a hunter?" Scott asked.

I wasn't sure of anything anymore. I looked down and muttered, "I don't know."

"Okay, this is what we're going to do," Stiles told us. He pointed a finger at me. "First, you, Sherlock, are going to find out why your father fancies wolfsbane as construction material and find the red book, or at least, who stole it." He then turned to Scott. "And you and I are going to figure out why you tried to kill your former bus driver."

I frowned. "What?!" But a flash of light coming near got my full attention. "Oh, shit!"

"My feelings exactly," Stiles mumbled, but I was too busy jumping out of the car and sprinting across the street to the shop.

Two minutes later, the bell announced my father's presence.

"How's inventory going?" he asked, tapping his fingers against the counter.

"Perfect," I said breathless. I gulped. "Almost done for the night."

He waltzed around the shop, as if searching for something out of place. My critic eyes followed him. When had my father turned the highest suspect on the list?

"Did you want anything, dad?"

He shook his head. "Just checking on you."

I bit my lower lip. "Dad, Chris Argent is an old friend of yours, right? How did you meet?"

He looked at me alarmed. "Has he said anything to you?" I shook my head. Now I was afraid. Of what? I wasn't sure. "Then why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering," I said slowly.

He laughed awkwardly. "Oh. We just met on the shop. An old client."

I nodded, studying my aging father. Years seemed to be weighting on his shoulders, gray streaked his hair and lines formed around his tired brown eyes.

I pointed a finger at the door. "I-I think I'm going home."

He nodded. "I'll take you."

We didn't speak the whole trip.

When I reached my room, I opened my investigation notebook and wrote down my father's name under the header 'suspects'.

* * *

Breakfast was tense, lunch was tense and dinner was tense. Spending most of my time with my father didn't help my situation. Since last night revelations I felt like observing his every movement. My mother had tried to make small talk, but gave up when she also sensed the stiff atmosphere.

But to make things worse, it was mutual. I felt my father's eyes scrutinizing me, to the point I had ignored Mia in case she slipped out and mentioned my new acquaintances.

So when the door bell rang, my mother bounced out of the dining room to flee the tension. Seconds later, I heard her call my name.

As I walked to the door and she went back to the dining room, she told me, "There are two boys who want to speak with you."

I quickened my pace. As expected, Stiles Stilinsky and Scott McCall were waiting outside my door. I stepped outside and left the door ajar. "What are you doing here?" I hissed. "Curfew is in half an hour."

"Yes, so shut up and listen," Scott told me. "We are going back to the crime scene where the bus driver was attacked. I-I don't know if it was me who did it. So, do you want to come?"

I gaped as a fish. "Are you crazy? That's illegal."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Didn't seem to bother you before…"

"I-I am grounded." Both boys raised their eyebrows at the same time, which would have proved comical if they weren't suggesting trespassing and breaking into a crime scene. "I can't! And you shouldn't have come! What if my father sees you? We still don't know if he's a hunter."

"Any news on that?" Stiles asked.

"No, but I'll work on it. Wait, what do you mean you don't know if you attacked the bus driver?"

"Long story short, Scott had a 'special' dream about making out with Allison, but then he attacked her. Next day, we find out that the bus driver was attacked exactly like it happened in his dream," Stiles explained.

"So, did you try to kill him?" I asked.

"I hope not," Scott said.

"That's what we're trying to find out," Stiles added.

I ran a hand through my hair. "I'm sorry guys, I can't. But call me if you find anything out. Give me your phone, I'll type in my number." I entered my mobile number in Stiles' phone and gave myself a missed call so I had his number too. "Here, be careful."

They nodded their goodbyes and I saw them leave in Stiles' Jeep. I shivered. It was cold outside, but there was something else. A nagging feeling telling me I was being observed. I walked inside and locked the door.

I went back to the dining room and told my parents I had lost my appetite. When my father asked what those boys wanted, I told them they were looking for a tutor, someone to help them pass Chemistry and Math, and that Mia had recommended me. Then I went to my bedroom.

Stress gave me headaches and I laid in my bed to rest for a minute before I went over the whole Hale-Argent-werewolf business again. I didn't know what to believe anymore. Had I been too eager ruling out Derek Hale as the murderer? Did he have any connection with the Argents? Each one of my theories did have weak points by now.

Was Derek Hale working with the Argents from the beginning to kill his own family and pack?

Was there a third werewolf?

Where the murders in Beacon Hills related to the red book?

Was my father involved in all of this somehow?

My eyelids grew heavy, fluttered and I fell asleep.

It was a dreamless sleep, a peaceful sleep that was interrupted by the sudden buzzing of my cell phone near my ear.

With drowsy eyes I pressed the call button, supposing it to be Scott or Stiles, maybe Mia, or even Cody. I wasn't prepared for the voice that ordered, "Meet me outside."

"Derek Hale?" I asked, disbelieving.

"Yes, I'm outside your house. Come and meet me."

Out of all the questions going round my numb mind, I blurted out the stupidest one. "How did you get my number?"

"Your friend Mia is easily persuaded. Now, please, go out." His 'please' was anything but polite and I didn't really feel like facing alone a murderer and a werewolf who had showed nothing but aggressiveness towards me.

"Why?"

"We need to talk."

"We are talking." Yes, I didn't want to go out, but that didn't mean I was going to pass the opportunity to get some answers. Dealing with Derek was fairly easy when I didn't have to face his growling and glowering.

"We need to talk in private."

"I'm alone."

"Your father could be listening."

My grip on the phone tightened. "What do you know about my father?"

"Come out and I'll tell you."

Insistent bastard. "I can't. I am grounded."

"Grounded? How old are you? Fourteen?"

"I am twenty one and grounded. Deal with it."

"Come out through the window."

"Are you crazy?!" I exclaimed and quickly draped a hand over my mouth when I realized my outburst. "That's insane," I hissed. "You're the one with super senses and enhanced agility. You climb up windows."

"I can't," he hissed back. Someone was getting frustrated, it seemed. "Your house's walls are filled with wolfsbane. If I could enter in, I'd have done it long ago."

"Why do you want to get into my house?" I asked, shocked.

"I'll explain if you come here once and for all!"

I bit my thumb's nail. Going out to meet Derek Hale in the middle of the night by jumping out of a window screamed suicide, and a very bloody and violent suicide. But Derek was promising me the answers I craved, about my father, about the murder of Laura Hale, about the Argents…

I thought of Stiles and Scott. I thought how I wished I had someone to accompany me to these dangerous situations that were becoming a recurring thing in my life.

"Imogene?" I heard Derek's voice through the phone.

"Yes?"

"Come down."

Stupid, stupid little Imogene. Always getting carried away by her curiosity. Until the time curiosity would kill the cat, I thought bitterly as I grabbed three vials of aconitum.

Derek was a werewolf and I was a human, it wasn't fair. So it was my way to tip the balance, to level the playing field. I took my jacket, remembering the low temperature.

"Are you coming?" Derek was impatient.

"Yes, shut up." I regretted the 'shut up' part almost instantly. Not a nice thing to say to the murderer you're going to meet alone.

I opened my room's window and realized I couldn't do it. The gentle night wind blew some stray strands of hair out of my face. I felt sick and terrified. What was I doing? Was I really this senseless? I had always thought I was a rather smart girl. Apparently I was wrong.

"I can't do it," I whispered.

"Why not?"

"I'll fall and die, that's why!"

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will. And after having faced two werewolves and broken into a crime scene, it'll be the dumbest death ever."

"There's a tree in front of your window, with strong branches. Use them and climb down."

As you can imagine, someone with my medical history of injuries due to my lack of coordination and equilibrium didn't trust so much her ability to climb down a tree in the middle of the night.

"Who do you think I am? Spiderman? I can't do that," I pronounced the last part very clearly.

He didn't get it. "At least try to do it. I'll be down to catch you if you fall."

Very comforting, I thought sarcastically. "There's really no other way to do this?" I pleaded. "I have flat rate on my phone."

"Look, I won't say it again. Come down or I'll leave."

"You're pushy," I growled at him.

"You're nosy."

I threw a leg out of the window and stopped. Fear paralyzed my muscles. I took one last look at the comfort of my bedroom, a silent goodbye to my old life without werewolves and danger, just crime novels and hot mugs of chocolate.

I passed the other leg, sitting on the windowsill. I took a deep breath and muttered to myself, "I can't do this."

I forgot I was still grabbing the phone to my ear and Derek must have thought I was talking with him, because he said, "Yes, you can."

I didn't know what his intentions were, so it wasn't really reassuring.

"How do I get down?"

"Grab the branch in front of you, the long one."

I pressed the phone between my ear and my shoulder, and one hand in the windowsill, I stretched to reach said branch. The tip of my fingers barely grazed the wood. I moved a foot forward. So close. I must look so stupid. My feet slid down the tiles of the roof, so I finally reached the branch to steady myself.

In that position, I spoke to my lurker. "What do I do now?"

"Let go of the windowsill and climb on the branch."

"No way!"

"Do it."

Well, who was I to argue with a werewolf?

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and allowed the adrenaline to move my body. I let go of the window and felt myself fall forward. In the last second, I managed to grab the branch tightly with both hands, the phone still stuck against my ear. I didn't hear myself scream, but I must have.

Light shone from a window to the left, the one I knew belonged to my parents.

Derek repeated me to come down, but going down was the last thing I wanted. Anything but meeting the hard ground. I tried to flex my arms and push myself up in the branch, but I lacked strength to support my own weight. I kicked my legs to find another branch, but found none. I whimpered in pain. The branch was rough under my hands, and the sweat made me slid down.

"Let go of the branch, I'll catch you."

"No."

"Your parents are going to see you."

I dared to look up. My father was leaning out of the window, squinting at the dark. I kicked stronger. My phone slipped out and fell to the grass. I regretted everything. I regretted meddling into other people's business. I regretted not being a good and obedient daughter. I even regretted listening to Derek Hale.

"Let go!" I heard his voice and it took me a moment to realize how I could hear him when I had no longer my phone with me. Was this some kind of death experience? Was he telling me to let go from my life and meet him in the afterlife? "Let go, for God's sake!"

Then I looked down and found him standing there, waiting for me to drop in his arms. I kicked harder. I felt my foot collide with his jaw and his hiss of pain alerted my father, who bellowed in our direction, "Who's in there?!"

Dread filled my chest as I saw him disappear. He couldn't find me in here, hanging from a tree's branch as a ragged doll. I made a last effort to push myself up and desisted. Down was the only way.

Derek alternated between glaring daggers at me and scanning our surroundings.

"Get out of the way!" I whispered at him.

"What?"

"You heard me. Move! I'm climbing down. By myself."

He raised his hands in surrender. "As you wish."

I opened my hands and met the ground with a flop. I fell on my derriere rather sloppily. The soft grass cushioned my fall, so it didn't hurt as much as I expected. Actually, it hadn't been that much height.

My pride had taken the worst part of it. I knew Derek was laughing at me inwardly, I could almost see the corner of his lips twitch upward in a mocking smile. Hell, I would have laughed myself if it weren't for the circumstances.

The light on my parent's bedroom had disappeared, so in fear they would come down to check what happened, I sat up with as much dignity as I had left and bolted down the street. Derek Hale followed and soon he matched my pace to nowhere in particular.

With the new curfew, these residential streets were deserted. It was a quiet neighborhood and I was grateful for it. Plus, the weather wasn't the best, this morning had been raining and that had discouraged people from abandoning the warmth of their houses.

Wanting to be done with this as soon as possible, I didn't miss a beat and asked, "Did you kill your sister?"

"No."

"Scott McCall is sure you did."

"But you don't believe him," he said.

"I'm not so sure anymore," I confessed. "Are you here to convince me you're innocent?"

"No."

"Then why do you drag me out of my house through a window in the middle of the night? What is that so important we have to talk about?"

"This way," he said, motioning to a dark alley.

I shook my head pointedly. "No way. I still don't trust you."

He didn't push it and kept walking by my side. "You can't tell anyone about me, or Scott."

"I won't. Even if I would, no one would believe me."

"If you do, I'll kill you."

A threat. It felt as a splash of cold water as the reality of my situation settled in. I thought bitterly of those girls in novels that dealt with werewolves and vampires and ghosts and never showed an ounce of fear. I was terrified.

"What do you know about a red book?" he asked then, oblivious to my internal turmoil.

So all of his false politeness was just a shortcut to the book. With dread, I considered what he could do if he found out I had lost the book and I wasn't useful to him anymore. But I hadn't risked my life for nothing; I was here to get answers.

"What do you know about my father?" I replied instead.

"He had the red book until you sold it to Stiles Stilinsky. And he's friends with Chris Argent."

"What about Chris Argent? Is he to blame for the fire?"

His jaw tightened. "Forget about the fire. It has nothing to do with this."

"But you know who did it," I pressed in a bout of impulsiveness.

"And it doesn't concern you," he growled at me.

"I was right? Are the Argents responsible for that?"

"That fire is none of your business!" he yelled at me. And on cue, I felt guilty. It seemed I had been waiting the moment he snapped at me to realize I was treading on a delicate matter.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I know sometimes I'm a busybody."

"Forget it." He sighted.

"It's just that I don't understand why you don't want them to pay for what they did. The logical reaction would be to seek some retribution."

"And by meddling into other people's business you're trying to bring justice, right?" he asked sarcastically.

I frowned. "Well… yes."

He rounded on me. "No, you're not. You're just looking for some sort of satisfaction by feeding your curiosity on events out of your control. You think you're a Good Samaritan, but you're just selfish."

It hurt. But it hurt even more because it was the same thing my mother had insinuated days before. And it hurt because somehow I knew both were right. I didn't do this for Derek Hale or Scott McCall; I did all this because of myself.

Because I carried a boring life and these moments of danger and mystery made me feel special. They made me feel the intrepid heroine of the novel, the infallible investigator and not plain bookworm Imogene, with her normal life between books and dusty shelves.

I trotted to reach him down the street. "I was just trying to help you, ungrateful bastard!"

He turned sharply and stalked back to me with a predatory air to his movements. I searched my pockets for the aconitum vial. Cold sweat damped my forehead and the drumming of my heart was deafening.

He stopped in front of me, his head tipped forward so he was eye level with me. "Do you want to help me?" I nodded, unable to find my voice. "Then bring me the red book."

The red book. Why did always everything come back to the old red book?

Curiosity overwhelmed fear. "Why is that book so important?"

"That book contains important information."

"What information?"

"A natural remedy that could temporary deprive a werewolf of his powers. If the hunters get their hands on it, we'd be defenseless if they were to attack us."

I mused over it. "And it would grant a werewolf control on a full moon and the chance to a normal life."

"That too. But our priority is to avoid by all means that the book falls to hunter's hands." Oops. I ran a shaky hand over my face. He noticed my uneasiness. "You didn't give it to them, right?" He sounded alarmed.

"No, no, of course not!"

"Then what is it?"

"Nothing," I lied.

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Where is the book, Imogene?"

God, why did he have to sound so much like an angry parent? "I don't know," I confessed.

"You don't know? What do you mean 'you don't know'?"

"I-I kind of lost it."

"You kind of lost it?" he repeated. "How could you lose it?"

"Someone broke into my room and took it. I'm trying to figure out who has it now."

He turned his back on me, walked a few steps and ran a hand through his jet black hair. "We need to get that book back."

"I'm working on it," I said.

He stared at me and then relented and nodded. "Okay, there's something more we need to talk about."

My phone, which I had picked up from the grass after I fell, buzzed. "Oh, wait a sec. Hello?"

"Imogene?" Stiles asked from the other side of the line.

"Yes."

"We went back to the bus where the driver was attacked. Turns out Scott was there last night, but he didn't attack Garrison Myers."

"Cool. That's great!"

"There's more. Scott remembered who attacked the driver. It was Derek Hale."

My eyes widened and darted to Derek. He was staring back at me and I knew he could hear what was being said over the phone. I gulped. "We'll have to talk later, Stiles. Take care."

"You too," he said before hanging up.

Silence engulfed us and I gritted my teeth to the point I felt pain. It was a breathless tension and I considered taking flight.

"Scott is wrong. I didn't attack the bus driver and I didn't kill my sister," Derek finally said. I stood wordless. He took a step towards me but stopped when he saw me tense. "It was the other thing I wanted to tell you about. There's another werewolf in town. One more powerful, stronger."

"An Alpha," I whispered.

He nodded. "Yes, an Alpha. I don't know what he wants, but if he comes closer, do not face him, not alone, not like you're facing me or Scott. And do not give him the red book."

"He's the one that killed your sister."

"My sister came here to find him and now I'm trying to do the same. He bit Scott."

"And his pack?" I asked.

"I don't think he has one yet. That's why he's going after Scott. Attacking the bus driver is his way to attract his attention," Derek explained. I blinked, digesting the new information. "Remember, find the book, forget about everything else."

"What about Scott and the Argents?"

"They'll be alright. You just find the book."

I sighted, closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. My headache was getting worse and the lack of sleep wasn't helping. "Okay, but what if I find it? What do I do then?" but my words didn't receive an answer. When I looked around me, I was alone. The only indication that I hadn't imagined the whole conversation was the screeching of a black luxurious car speeding into the night.

"Okay," I mumbled to the empty street. "Just boss around and disappear. Why not?"

Feeling suddenly alone and defenseless, I sprinted back to my home.

And was faced by one little problem I hadn't planned.

How was I supposed to climb back into my room?

"Shit."

* * *

 **Did you know?**

When I started writing this fanfiction 'Twilight' was in vogue, thus the multiple references to the books in the story.


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